Shoes are marching through my mind like ducklings
one after the other, noses to butt,
in a long circling line that surround earth,
and their clumping feet slap on the globe’s crust
with cumulative thwack that goes to the moon,
rebounding back with a lilting echo.
What’s in a shoe? Your life depends on it,
as in Xenophon’s book Anabasis,
or a mountaineer’s chilling, boasting memoir.
Don’t ever wear your shoes to bed, or you
will regret the state of your feet come dawn!
They say a man is judged by his dress shoes,
but I say a man is judged by his tongue
and not the black tongue of a leather shoe!